


lovers (to the very end)

by Marinia



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurdy Gurdy, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Memories, Minor Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Rescuing Your Love, SOFT GAYS, Singing, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 09:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marinia/pseuds/Marinia
Summary: “Let him go home with me,” Roman demanded, and his voice was strong even as his legs shook.Patton died and Roman followed. Patton died and Roman is oh-so cold without his lover's hand to hold.Now, Roman has to convince the Lord of the Dead all on his own.





	lovers (to the very end)

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by violet's gorgeous retelling of this same myth, which I encourage y'all to read if you haven't yet. 
> 
> The song used here is "This Is Why I Need You," by Jesse Ruben. The idea of a hurdy gurdy is one i've gotten from the wonderful music Patty Gurdy creates on her YouTube channel, please check her out, her music is just wonderful.  
I'll also name Hadestown as an inspiration, because I've listened to it all throughout writing this. Also, it's amazing. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy, kudos and reviews are always well-beloved, and thank you for reading <3

“Let him go home with me,” Roman demanded, and his voice was strong even as his legs shook. 

His dress, once white and pristine, was dirty and tattered. The veil over his braided hair, once neat and beautiful, was gone. His feet were blistered, walked raw. His muscles ached, trembled with weakness. 

His voice was strong. His back was straight. 

He glared up at the Lord of the Dead. He swayed on his feet. The Lord’s might pushed down on him, it tried to bring him to his knees. He kept on standing. 

The Lord sat. Sat upon his throne of gold and silver, dwarfing the singer with no effort at all. Clothed entirely in blacks, leather and silk, rich and flawless. Lacking the softness his husband brought to his features. His throne rome lacking the vines and flower buds the God of Spring brought to its pillars. 

The hall was grand and majestic, but _ cold _. Freezing. 

“Do you think you’re the first to ask?” The Lord’s voice was bitter and deep. Obsidian glasses hid any emotion. “The first to come down here, to beg me and fail them?” The God sighed. Tired. “Go home, songbird, this is no place for you.” 

* * *

Roman grinned, grand and confident. Real. 

“Everything for you, lovely!” he shouted at the gorgeous man, overpowering the crowd around them. He pressed the keys and turned the crank of his hurdy-gurdy. His smile grew even bigger as he stepped towards the other man, the man who’d asked for a song, the man whose hair kept falling in his face, the man who looked up at him with earnest adoration. 

He hummed the tune as he started playing, voice melodious and sweet, before starting to sing. Soft. “I have so many questions, and places to go,” he sighed. Fake. Wistful. “There are too many options, far too many unknowns…” 

He looked across the crowd, all of them melting together, except for _ him _, that one gorgeous man who held his attention with no effort at all. It was an easy choice, a straightforward path. Even as he needed to pave it for himself, he knew where to go. 

So he stepped closer to the gorgeous man. So he sent him a cheshire smile before singing the next verse, performing with ease and habit. “This is why I need you…” 

He turned back towards the stage, not looking behind, feeling the other’s eyes on his back. Feeling the eyes of a shapeless, amorphous audience on his back. “And everyone talks now, but no one is right, there are too many armies, with no one to fight,” he sang, lamented, suffering tainting his words even as his eyes sparkled with the joy of performing. 

He raised his voice as he continued, bold and brash and strong. “This is why I need you!-“

He danced across the stage, danced as much as he could with the hurdy gurdy in front of his chest and the sentimentality of his tune. 

He sang, of smoothed edges, warm, cozy winters and of a trust and a love that was more than skin deep. He sang with feeling but without emotions. He relished in the attention of his audience. He grinned and winked and stepped ever closer, safe behind the hurdy gurdy protecting his heart. He performed for a vague, shapeless impression of an audience, and he performed for a gorgeous man who’d caught his heart. 

And he _ sang _, sang for many songs after, and the gorgeous man never left. His black hair fell out of intricate braids as he joined hands with ever-changing partners during dances and his bird blue eyes sparkled with joy whenever his gaze found Roman’s. He was so beautiful it hurt. 

And Roman _ sang _ , sang for many songs after, almost hoping the night would never end. Almost hoping he’d get to spend eternity with the gorgeous man who shone like the sun above. He didn’t perform anymore. He just hoped, yearned, _ longed _for an endless night beneath the eternal stars. 

And Roman sang, sang for many songs after, until his voice grew hoarse and he had to stop. And still, the gorgeous man didn’t leave. And still, there was adoration in his eyes. 

He walked towards Roman. 

Roman, who stood there without the hurdy-gurdy before his chest, without the instrument to protect his heart, with only a cracking voice and a heart exposed. Without a performance to hide behind. Excitement and fear. Shaking hands, a sparrow in the cold. 

“I hope you don’t mind me staying, I just adored your song!” the gorgeous man said, voice sweet as cider. 

Roman giggled, flustered against his will. 

He knew of his skill, it filled his pockets and his stomach after all, but… the man in front of him was beautiful, and had eyes so very kind. “Thank you,” he smiled, replied, “would you tell me your name then, lovely, so I could sing one about you?” 

Seeing the red spread over his face, it was like watching a rose come into bloom. “Patton,” breathed his love, and, “May I know yours as well? I’ve no voice for singing, but a mind for poetry should serve just as well.” 

“Roman,” the singer said, and bowed low at the waist. His eyes never left Patton’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Patton grinned, pulling him up with his hand. Cradling Roman’s rough ones. “You say that like we will part any second.” 

“I have no more songs to sing,” Roman said. He didn’t pull his hands away. 

“It’s good then,” Patton murmured, pressing a kiss to rough knuckles, “that I have many stories to tell. If you wish to hear them?” 

“Until the end of time, oh-lovely Patton.”

They settled under the rising sun, Roman’s head in Patton’s lap, and he would’ve done everything to stretch time into stopping, so this would never end. So he could forever listen to Patton’s stories. So he could forever hum new melodies, until they were kissed from his lips. 

He wouldn’t have to, though. Patton said yes, said he wanted to meet him again. And Roman was the luckiest man in the world. 

* * *

Roman puffed up like an angry robin. “I won’t leave here without him! This place- it’s not for Patton, he _ deserves _ the sun and the light of day, not your-” 

His knees buckled as the Lord’s annoyance pushed down on him. He gasped, hand curling around the hurdy-gurdy before his chest. He didn’t fall. 

The Lord of the Dead didn’t stand up from his throne. But his jaw was clenched. With his glasses, Roman couldn’t see if it was anger or grief in his eyes. The weight on his shoulders eased. He could breathe again. 

“He is _ dead _ , he deserves the fields of elysium and the eternal piece he’ll find there, not your _ interfering _ , songbird-” he snapped, leaning forward. “I’ve seen _ many _ mortals come down here, and I haven’t seen one of them return holding their lover’s hand. And I won’t risk the happiness of one of _ my _ people for you, _ songbird _. Come back when it’s time for you.” 

Roman was shaking with rage before the Lord had even finished. His lips trembled. His eyes glistened with tears. “I won’t let you stop me!” His voice cracked as he yelled. . 

The Lord’s voice was rich with vitriol. “Just because _ you-” _

“He needs me! Just like I need him! We belong together!” Roman cried. 

* * *

They rested under thin blankets, in a garden filled with wildflowers, the stars shining above them and reflecting in their eyes. Patton looked away from the constellations up above, to the lover in his arms, and his breath was taken away, to the heavens. 

Stars shone in Roman’s eyes, twinkling brightly with adoration. 

Roman nudged him with a finger that’d drawn patterns on his arms just moments before. “Go on, love,” Roman whispered. 

Pattn smiled, wanted to giggle. “But how can I, dearest, when you’re so beautiful my breath is taken right from me?” 

“Pat!” His lover’s face turned red, like a robin’s breast, like a redstart’s tail. 

Patton did giggle then, black hair falling into his face as he bowed his head, as he kissed the blush on Roman’s face. 

Soft happiness was fluttering in his heart. His arms tightened around his lover before he could stop himself, pressing a kiss to Roman’s lips. There were no winters to write about when he was with someone so warm. 

Roman rose up to meet him, tasting like honey and berries. There was no bitter grey to write about when he was with someone so sweet. 

A week was left until they’d leave to go south, until Patton would leave his home, holding his lover’s hand. There was a frazzled sort of anticipation whenever they talked about it. It tinged the love between them with frenzy. A frenzy to be close, to be touching, to be affirming the love between them. 

They laid in the grass, still warm even as autumn was fast approaching. Roman snuggled against him, humming a melody under his breath. Patton let his fingers run through his hair as he picked his story up anew. 

Warm and sweet and frenzied words strung together in a tale of gods and love, frozen in the constellations up above. 

* * *

“Just let me prove it to you! Let- let me-” 

“What, songbird?” The Lord drawled, bored, exhausted, with something he’d heard a million times before. “You wanna _ sing for me?” _

* * *

Summer had left early. They were freezing in a makeshift shelter, entangled limbs and goose-like skin. They were crouching over a map, unsure words and wide-eyed arguments. Trembling hands. 

The edges were sharp, the winter was cold and dark. There was a trust and a love between them that was more than skin deep. They fought, feared and froze. Roman held his lover’s hand. 

And when the sun was sinking into the snow and their path was decided but still unpaved, he held Patton close and he _ sang _. 

“There are too many options, far too many unknowns,” he hummed, whispered, sang, into Patton’s hair. “This is why I need you…” He pressed a kiss to his lover’s temple, warm and sweet from frozen, chapped lips. 

“Cause you make the darkness less dark, you make the edges less sharp… you make the winter feel _ warmer _.” His voice was soft with feelings and emotions. His eyes shone. Uncertain. 

He squeezed Patton’s hand. He made sure his lover was still there, still- 

Patton leant up to him, kissing him, swallowing the words from his mouth. They both laughed, nervous and relieved and enamoured. “You make my weakness less weak,” Roman breathed, between small kisses and giggly smiles. “You make the bottom less deep-” 

They broke off then. They both smiled and giggled then. They made a song of their very own then. It made the waiting feel shorter. It made the sunrise come bolder. And they continued on their path, as the sun shone on the early snow. And they held their lover’s hand through their journey, not needing to look back to know the other behind them. 

* * *

“If that’s what you ask of me!” Roman yelled, taking the hurdy gurdy from his back and strapping it in front of his chest. A proud catbird ready to sing its song. A desperate human hoping to save his lover. 

The Lord of the Dead snorted, almost amused as he leant back into his throne. “Sing, then.” His husband, his Spring, his Light, would’ve loved this. Thinking of Emile’s vernal flowers now decorating the mortals’ realm… He almost hoped that Patton would see the motley mirror of his peaceful plains once again. 

And Roman took a breath, deep and desperate. 

And Roman sang, powerful and passionate. 

And he was the luckiest man in the world, for the chance he now possessed. 

“There are too many options, and far too many unknowns.” He looked up at the Lord, and then up, up, further up, to the mural decorating the wall behind him. The Lord and his Consort, his Spring heart. The God had to _ understand _. 

He breathed. “This is why I need you-” His hands were cold on the hurdy gurdy. There was no lover’s hand to warm them. 

“And everyone talks now, but no one is right.” They’d wanted to bury Patton, hide him forever, act like his- his leaving was final, like he couldn’t be saved. Roman had almost destroyed the casket they wanted to- 

“This is why I need you-” He’d been so cold, so bitter and empty, no song passing his lips as wails dragged themselves through his body without pause. 

“Cause you make the darkness less dark, you make the edges less sharp-” 

A sob wretched itself out of his chest as he sung, with feeling and emotion and oh-so-much hope. “You make the winter feel warmer!” His voice cracked. 

The memories they’d shared were the only thing to warm him anymore. Seeing the glassiness of unseeing, bird blue eyes… it’d hollowed him out and filled him with the winter’s frost. 

“And you make my weakness less weak, you make the bottom less deep,” his breathing was laboured, his voice shaking with the winter’s cold, “you make the waiting feel-” he caught on the words, tears straining his voice, interrupting the dirt collected on his face. His hands trembled, and the words were stuck in his throat. 

He’d felt each moment since- 

They’d stretched like honey, once coating his tongue with sweetness, now staining his hands, now glueing his teeth together, now rendering him unable- 

He couldn’t finish the song. He couldn’t play the hurdy-gurdy. He couldn’t face a God. He couldn’t stand the world without his lover’s hand to hold. 

His knees hit the ground, and he _ wept _. 

He fell into loving arms. 

He choked on his breath as he saw Patton, as he looked into bird blue eyes, as his lover’s hands cradled his face, gently wiping away the tears even as more soon followed. “Pat,” he wept, cried, prayed. “Pat,” he repeated until it lost any meaning. “Pat,” he cried until he was too hoarse to be heard. 

“Roman,” his lover whispered, hands turning strong and pulling him close and pressing a wet, toothy kiss to his lips, and Roman was warm again. And Roman cradled his lover close. And Roman never wanted to let him go again. 

And Roman knew he’d lead his lover out of this place, to a life of flowers and stars and winters and storms and _ them _. To a life together and never-apart, connected by a ring and promise, a trust and a love. 

So he turned to the Lord of the Dead, hand still clutching, clinging, to Patton’s. “Will you- Can we go?” He asked, song unfinished, instrument pushed from his chest in a hurry to embrace, with only a cracking voice and a heart exposed. 

The Lord of the Dead looked down at them, and he nodded. His gaze caught the ceiling of his hall, the gems placed there. They mirrored the land above, just like everything in his realm. 

Roman saw them too, as Patton pulled them both up to their legs, hands warm and warming his. They shone and twinkled, and he thought of stories and of myths. And he squeezed Patton’s hand, lovers going side by side to the entrance of the hall. 

They both looked up the steep climb ahead of them. 

The dark, withered gorse covered each step, no path to follow. They could hear the rushing of a river, ice dragged along the fast currents of freezing water. Rain fell unto them, inviting them to fall and inviting them to look and care for a lover who’d be dragged back down as they were held down by suddenly-thorned branches. 

Roman knew many stories of lovers gone mad in this labyrinthian limbo. He squeezed Patton’s hand, kissed his love and cradled his face with a tenderness that exposed his fear. “Follow me,” he whispered. 

“I’ll be just a step behind,” Patton promised. 

And so they went. 

Not holding their lover’s hand, but always with a hand stretched out, either behind or out front. To hold and clutch and tug on as soon as the light belonged to the sun again, as soon as the floor was claimed by grass and flowers again. 

And so they went. 

Until the gorse grew lighter, until the river was behind them and their bones had turned to ice. Until they’d stopped wondering if they were wandering in circles. Until they were greeted by the God of Spring, until warmth fell on their skin, until they could hold their lover’s hand again. 

And so they went, side by side and hand in hand. 

Lovers to the very end.


End file.
